


Entourage

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: A bunch of women fawn over Mòrag. Brighid is annoyed.





	Entourage

**Author's Note:**

> jetlagged as hell but i had too many hours to kill in the hotel room so here’s a dumb fic i wrote entirely on my phone about Mòrag being a shoujo protag
> 
> —also, i didnt get the chance to respond to all the comments left on Mamapon, but thank you everyone so much!! all your feedback really means a lot to me!

The giggling behind them is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Yet Mòrag doesn’t acknowledge them, likely pretending that she doesn’t notice rather than actually being oblivious. Other people are beginning to _stare_ as they pass. Both Mòrag and Brighid are used to all sorts of looks, being as famous and infamous as they are around Alrest. The amount of attention they receive is usually more overwhelming in Mor Ardain where they’re the most recognized, but _this_ is a bit...

Anyone would stare, when there’s a sizable group of young women trailing after the Flamebringer. One just doesn’t witness something like this every day, after all. 

“Special Inquisitor Lady Mòrag—!” One girl chirps out, bolder than the rest. “U-Um, we were wondering if, er...“

Mòrag stops in her tracks. Brighid internally curses her Driver’s drilled politeness, but obligingly stops as well. She’s glaring but none of the women seem to notice, either because they’re too fixated on Mòrag or because they can’t see Brighid’s eyes.

“... Yes?” Mòrag looks over her shoulder. 

That half-turn. That cool gaze. The way her collar obscures her mouth from that angle. The girl who had addressed Mòrag turns bright red and quickly huddles up with the group, as if plotting an attack.

An unplaceable sense of danger raises the hairs on the back of Brighid’s neck. She leans over to whisper in her ear.

“Lady Mòrag, they won’t be able to follow us if we go to the Palace.”

Too late. The girls swarm around Mòrag (and Brighid, by proxy) before she can even respond. 

“Just a drink, Special Inquisitor?”

“Or some sweets, perhaps!”

“It’ll be our treat!”

“A-ah, she’s even prettier up close...!”

Brighid’s barely able to stop herself from setting them on fire.

Somewhat bewildered but apparently unbothered, Mòrag only offers that practiced smile she’s perfected for council meetings and negotiations. It’s very artificial, but good enough to fool anyone who wouldn’t know any better— anyone except Brighid.

Brighid is quick to answer for Mòrag. “I’m afraid we have some... prearranged engagements to attend to. We’ll be on our way.”

That’s a blatant lie. They’d just been aimlessly strolling around Alba Cavanich with a barren schedule for the day. 

“If it’s only for an hour or so, it should be no trouble at all,” Mòrag says, inclining her head at Brighid with a look that says _let’s not be rude_ and something else, something else that turns her lips up to a more amused smile.

Oh, this must be another one of her ill-guided attempts at humor. Brighid shakes her head in disbelief as the women excitedly chatter at Mòrag.

Damn her. She’s taking it all in stride, politely answering each of their questions and even allowing them to hang off her arms like noisy accessories. But, Mòrag’s decision to go along with these women makes sense even if Brighid doesn’t agree with it. While she may not particularly care whether or not those in the upper echelons of the Empire like her or not, her public image with the common folk is something she prefers to uphold. 

That kind of humble attitude is as admirable as it is frustrating, sometimes— frustrating because of moments like this when Mòrag allows these women to fawn over her, the attention neither wanted nor unwanted.

So while Brighid can’t quite fault Mòrag for not turning down these women, she still hasn’t gotten over the temptation to start a fire around her Driver. Or just set her Driver on fire. They— oh, hell, they’re feeling Mòrag’s arms now. 

“Ohh, she’s as strong as they say...!”

“I wanna touch her legs, too...”

“Sh-shh! Don’t say that out loud, you idiot!”

“Special Inquisitor, is it true that you once defeated a Deinos Sauros all by yourself in Temperantia?!”

Mòrag touches her chin. “Not quite _by myself._ Brighid was with me, of course.”

“But you did defeat it?!”

“Yes. Brighid and I did, together.”

The women squeal in unison. Then, to Brighid’s horror and mild embarrassment, they all turn to her. She spots a smirk pass over Mòrag’s face for a split second. _Damn her._

“Can we feel your arms too, Lady Brighid?!”

Brighid automatically takes a couple steps back away from the group. Much to her annoyance, Mòrag places her hands on the shoulders of two of the women to steer their attention away. They practically swoon at that physical contact and look to her with starry eyes.

“That may not be a good idea. Brighid’s flames can burn quite a bit, even when she isn’t trying to.” Mòrag has the gall to stare directly at her while she’s addressing the other women. Brighid softly huffs and crosses her arms, refusing to break away from Mòrag’s teasing gaze like it’s a challenge.

“Oohh, that’s the power of the Jewel of Mor Ardain for you.”

“But you don’t get burned, right? Special Inquisitor?”

“Not at all.” She’s definitely grinning now. 

Brighid rolls her eyes, the gesture unseen by anyone. “That’s right. I could set Lady Mòrag ablaze and she wouldn’t even flinch.”

There’s something vaguely threatening in the way Brighid says that that makes something in Mòrag’s guts flutter in delight. 

“Do you... do you do that often, Lady Brighid?”

“Hmm. Not as often as I should.”

The women nervously laugh and pack together more tightly around Mòrag. It’s a wonder she can even walk with that many of them clinging to her. Mòrag isn’t outright laughing, of course, that isn’t her style, but the look in her eyes says enough. Somehow, Brighid feels both less and more annoyed by the whole thing. She leaves small embers in her wake with every step she takes.

There’s barely enough room at the one available table at the sweets shop for all of them. Not that it matters, because the women predictably crowd around Mòrag, leaving the other side alone to Brighid. She drums her fingers against the splintery wood, closely scrutinizing the way they brush their hands over her Driver’s arms and shoulders, and the way Mòrag patiently endures their affections and nonstop complimenting.

 _Special Inquisitor Lady Mòrag is so amazing_ this, _Special Inquisitor Lady Mòrag is so stunning_ that. Being able to completely understand where these women are coming from only annoys Brighid even more, and she realizes a bit too late that she’s been leaving scorch marks on the table with her tapping.

“What kinds of sweets do you like, Special Inquisitor? We’ll buy whatever you want!”

“Ah, don’t trouble yourselves over that. Allow me to treat everyone with my own coin, please.” 

She knows Mòrag isn’t even _trying_ to be charming, she’s just being her normal self, which makes it that much worse. Ridiculous. And that normal self includes being acutely aware that Brighid isn’t actually mad enough to warrant being serious about this. 

Brighid sighs and puts a hand to her face. She has to admit it to herself. She’s mildly annoyed at the most, but hardly _mad._ Her bond with Mòrag is too tightly locked for her to feel genuinely threatened by a bunch of girls swooning over Mòrag. 

But she’d still like to set Mòrag on fire later, maybe. Just to reciprocate the teasing. 

The rest of it isn’t so awful. They all get their drinks and desserts (which Mòrag pays for, as she promised) and several of them keep offering Mòrag bites of their food, and some of them even make the same offer to _Brighid_ , but Mòrag acts no less politely detached than she’d been this entire time.

That’s the sort of attitude that really seems to excite the women, though. But, ah. Well. 

“Brighid,” Mòrag says, standing up after some time has passed and the sun is beginning to dip low. “Our _prearranged engagements_ , remember?”

“Ah— yes. Of course, Lady Mòrag.” 

Maybe Brighid stood up a bit too quickly, too blatantly eager to leave, because Mòrag suddenly finds one last opportunity to tease her. Amidst the women's vocal disappointment about them leaving, Mòrag turns to the closest one and gently takes her chin between two fingers. 

Brighid can hear all of them sharply inhaling at once. 

“This has been lovely, truly. It’s a shame we must cut this short.” She’s leaning in. 

Rather than being furious, Brighid is on the verge of laughter. That poor girl looks like she’s about to faint, but then Mòrag stops and pats her cheek instead.

“We’ll be off, then. Good evening to all of you.” 

Brighid glances over her shoulder to see the woman’s friends all clamoring around her, that one blessed soul to be graced by the gentle touch of the Special Inquisitor herself. She catches up to Mòrag and lightly slaps her arm. 

“That was _shameless._ ”

“Am I not allowed to have fun now and then as well?”

“Hah, that poor girl’s going to be pining for you, now.”

“Oh.” Mòrag frowns, realizing that her final attempt at teasing Brighid had completely backfired. “I should find her again tomorrow, then...”

“No, don’t do that,” Brighid quickly says. She laughs and hooks her arm around Mòrag’s. That’s exactly it, that sort of thing Mòrag is surprisingly thick about. This fool. Her fool. “I have a feeling you’d only make it worse.”


End file.
